Mistakes
by NoOneShallKnow
Summary: Dean knew he’d messed up. He’d lost the only one who understood him; he’d chased him away for nothing more than his own selfish reasons. All Dean could do now was live with the consequences and pray that his Sammy came back to him.


Dean heaved into the toilet, his knees pressed hard into the dirty tile of the motel room floor. His vision was blurry and his world was tilting and suddenly, the most evil creature he could think of was humans, humans who would manipulate your feelings and make a nice little cozy nest in your heart before tearing you into bits from the inside out.

Dean heaved again, tears dripping down to add to the puke already filling the bowl. Humans were his worst enemy now, humans who could make you physically sick with just a few words. Well, only one human could do it to Dean, but he knew that all humans did it at one point or another and that thought made Dean want to smack his head into the wall, because surely he had done it to someone along the line.

So, that meant that he was just as horrible as Sam, his little brother, his _Sammy_. His Sam who had shattered Dean's world in a matter of minutes, picking at him like a vulture until Sam's nest, the one that took up most of Dean's heart, was scattered about inside of him along with the tattered pieces of its home.

The words echoed and twisted in his gut as Dean crawled a few feet away and rested his hot cheek against the cool floor, his eyes half lidded.

"_You love me, Dean? Do you really? Because I HATE you. You killed Jess, and you killed Dad, and __hell, you've almost killed me countless times! I hope you die. You're worthless and sick and twisted, and that's why everyone leaves you! That's why _I'm _leaving you." _

And now, Dean wished he had never told Sam that he loved him. It would've been okay and Sam would've been happy, but Dean just had to shake his head when Sam was in the middle of saying it back, flashing desperation filled eyes at his younger brother.

Dean had known the moment Sam understood, because his eyes went dark and his jaw clenched tight, his hands in tight fists on his knees.

But what hurt almost more than the words was the look on his Sammy's face, anger and disgust and something else that Dean couldn't really place through the tears welling up in his eyes. Still, Dean hadn't been able to drown the pride he felt when Sam stood strong, even faced with his brother's tears, and walked out of the motel room with his head held high and his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

And now, just eight minutes later, Dean was lying on the floor, vomit drying on his lips and tears making a puddle on the tiles. He fixed his eyes on them, watching them make a clean spot in the grossness of the dirty would-be-white floor.

Dean found himself wondering where Sammy was, if he was okay, if he had already hitched a ride with some sympathetic stranger to get as far away from his useless crap-for-brother as he could, if he was just sitting in the diner down the street, if he was at all remorseful for what he had said, even though they both knew it was true.

Without even noticing it, Dean had reached into his pocket and fished out his cell, his thumb already pressing the button to dial Sam's number before he realized what he was doing. He let it ring once and then snapped the phone shut, throwing it off somewhere and almost giving a shit when he heard it plop into the vomit filled toilet.

Over the next twenty minutes, he somehow managed to literally drag himself over to Sam's bed. He pulled himself up like one of those miniature dogs, only y'know, _bigger_, and curled up under the Sam-smelling blankets. He stared blankly at the wall, his fingers scratching at the material as if Sam would feel it and come back to check on him.

After a while, Dean shifted around and started slipping his arm under the pillow when he felt something nick his skin sharply. He lifted the pillow and choked out a harsh sob, his throat tightening with every breath until he was barely getting any air. He ran his fingertips over the sharp edge of the blade, wiping off the little drop of blood carefully. It was the knife he'd give Sammy when they were fifteen and eleven.

Dean pressed the pillow to his face and let out a suffocating loud scream, his already bruised heart taking the harsh blow with weak acceptance.

Even with the pillow stifling the sound of his scream, he almost didn't hear his second cell ringing, and then he lost himself in a semi recent memory.

"_Dean, how do you keep losing your cell phones?__ You've probably set a new record!" Sam sighed, handing over two brand new cells. "Now you'll have a spare, but if you lose one or both, I'm gonna kick your ass."_

He hadn't lost either of them, even though he'd just broken one. He still knew where it was. Dean moved the pillow away just as the cell stopped ringing, but he reached between the beds and pulled it out of his duffle anyways. As soon as he saw _Sammy_ under _missed call_, it started ringing again and he dropped it beside his head and just stared at it.

After two minutes, it rang again. Then five minutes later. And again three minutes and thirty one seconds after, and then Dean grabbed it and threw it as hard as he could manage against the wall across the room, watching it break into less than half as many pieces as his heart.

What Dean guessed was ten minutes later, the phone on the little table between the beds started ringing. He turned over and looked at it for a second, and then he picked it up and slammed it back down. He kept it off the hook, listening to the dial tone.

It wasn't even two minutes later when there was a knock on the door and Dean had to force himself to roll out and away from the Sam-smell, walking slowly to the door. When he opened it, he was met with the sight of the motel clerk guy standing there with the office's cordless phone in hand.

"Someone called for you, Mr. Barlow." He said, holding the phone out to him. Dean just glared and stepped back.

"Tell him not to call me again." Dean said, slamming the door in the guys face.

Dean collapsed back down onto Sam's bed, the Sam-smell wrapping around him and quickly renewing his tears.

He didn't know why Sam kept calling him, but he knew it had to be bad because Sam was him and he was horrible, and Sam thought he was horrible too and that meant that he was worthless and Sam wasn't which meant that Sam wasn't Dean and Dean couldn't even understand what he was thinking anymore so he stared at Sam's ex-knife.

He tried to ignore the way that sounded in his head, because it echoed as _ex-wife_ and it made him think of Jess and how horrible he was for taking her away from Sam, his Sammy. Sammy who was ready to marry her and have kids, Sammy who had kept the ring he'd bought for her months after she died, Sammy who only threw it out because it got ruined on a hunt.

And then Dean reminded himself that he had to stop calling him Sammy, because Sam hated him and wished he was dead and he was too worthless and horrible to love Sam anymore.

Then Dean thought of all the people that Sam hated, the ones who weren't even allowed to call him _Sam_, and now that he knew that he himself was on that list, he swallowed hard. Samuel. Samuel. _Samuel_.

To Dean, it felt like his heart was trying to patch itself up in the most painful way possible, and as soon as he thought it was done it decided to sprout arms and start juggling machetes. And obviously his heart wasn't a very good juggler, because it kept dropping the sharp weapons all over itself. Secretly, Dean thought it was trying to cut all of Sam out of itself, but seriously, c'mon, like _that_ was ever gonna happen.

Dean reached out slowly and picked up the knife as he sat up, caressing the blade and the hilt and the handle all in turn. It was beautiful, and Dean guessed that was why he'd given it to Samuel, because even back then he'd been gorgeous. He pressed the tip hard into the flesh of his left thumb, watching as the skin eventually gave and blood spilled down, rolling all the way to the hilt before Dean pulled the mix or iron and silver out of his finger.

As he brought the blade to his left forearm and trailed the tip over his skin, Dean almost wondered why it was close to easy to call his sibling by his given name, _Samuel_, but just as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer.

It was because Samuel wanted it to be like this, and that thought ached more than Dean thought it would and then the blade was slipping and blood was beading out of the small cut by his wrist.

Dean stared at it for a while before bringing the blade up to his lips to lick the little trace of blood off it. Then, he was pushing the sharp edge of the silver-metal to his skin.

A mantra of _Sammydon'thatemeIloveyouSammySammywhyareyouleavingmeIloveyouSammyIloveyouIloveyou_ repeated itself over and over in his head as he dragged the knife roughly to the side, watching in fascination as the skin parted and blood rushed to the surface, running down the sides of his arm. It was deep, but shallower than some of his hunting wounds.

Then he was doing it again, deeper this time, and his heart stopped sewing itself back together to watch him because they both knew it wasn't really worth the effort, and they both wanted it to end. So Dean took the knife and slashed again, even deeper and harder and as the flesh parted, the cut revealed itself to be jagged, and Dean thought he almost caught a flash of bo- no wait, just a tear that looked white. Never mind. 

Suddenly, Dean's heart was speeding up and he couldn't breathe and he didn't know why and he kinda thought he was having another heart attack until he heard the thumping knock on the door and then he was walking towards it, the knife facing forward instead of backward like it would be if he was going to stab something.

Dean'd barely finished twisting the doorknob when the door was being pushed open, and then he heard a loud gasp and a large hand was knocking the knife from his hand and pushing him back until his knees hit the bed and he fell back, sitting in the Sam-smell.

'_But wait,'_ Dean thought hazily. _'This isn't Samuel's bed..'_

And that was when he noticed that it was his brother staring down at him with wide eyes, and he started to struggle to get away, trying to crawl backwards to the other side of the bed so he could escape out the half open screenless window.

But then Samuel's hands were on his shoulders and Dean flinched back, his eyes closing as he waited for the inevitable blow to the face. When a minute passed and nothing happened, Dean opened his eyes and reeled back in shock when he saw the regret and sadness in Samuel's misty eyes. And that's when he noticed that the misty appearance was because he was going to _cry_, and he almost reached forward to pull his brother into his arms before he remembered.

"_I hope you die." _

Dean narrowed his eyes. Without Samuel noticing, he snuck his bleeding left arm back for leverage and lifted his right leg. He kicked out hard and caught the space between Samuel's hipbones. The unexpected force behind the blow knocked him back onto the ground between the two beds, and Dean was up and at the door in seconds.

Samuel thought he was about to leave, but he jumped to his feet when he saw Dean picking up the knife again. Somehow, before he made it to him, Dean was stabbing the blade of the knife deep into his right thigh, dragging it around harshly to make a hole as well as the initial cut.

"DEAN!!" Sam was crying and grabbing onto him, and for some reason the pain in his leg and the fear on his brother's face made him _Sam_ again, because for now he seemed to care. Dean just grinned at him, flashing his teeth in the dull light.

"Remember that pretty main artery that lives there, Sammy? I might've killed it. Don't worry though, my heart stopped trying to fix me and let me do it. Aren't you happy, Sam? You won't have to deal with me anymore, and you'll be able to forget twisted, sick ole Dean and move on, find a girlfriend and marry her and have as many kids as you want.."

Dean's vision started going black, but he shook his head and tried to focus.

"And nothing will hurt you or your family, because I'll keep you safe..safe like I couldn't manage when I was alive…"

Sam was pressing his hand to the wound on Dean's leg now, and Dean scowled at him.

"I love you, Sammy...my Sammy…"

And then it all faded away, a yell ringing in his ears before it all went quiet.

--

When Dean opened his eyes, he had a minute of complete blankness before the events of the previous day were swarming his mind, making his head throb. And just a few seconds later, his right thigh started throbbing to the same beat as his heart and head. And then his arm followed as if it was a new trend, pounding away.

When he looked at his left arm and his right thigh, Dean wasn't surprised to see bloody bandages wrapped tight around them. What shocked him was seeing Sam sitting on the wooden chair that he had taken from the small table in the corner. His younger brother's chin was pressed to his chest, his arms crossed over his belly and his legs spread out wide so they wouldn't cramp too much and Dean almost thought it was strange that he was still Sam.

But then, when Sam lifted his head and fixed his furious eyes on him, Dean decided that he was Samuel again and quickly pushed himself out of bed. He started shoving things half heartedly into his open duffle, but Samuel stopped him. Dean bared his teeth like an angry animal and almost hoped that Sam would come back out, but Samuel kept his eyes cold and focused.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?" Samuel growled, squeezing Dean's shoulders tightly.

"What, you can't tell? Am I not allowed to leave? You've left me plenty of times! I figure it's my turn now." Dean glared, trying to squirm out of his brother's hold.

"I'm not letting you leave, Dean."

"Why not?! You clearly don't want me, remember? Since you hate me and all, I see no reason to stick around!" Dean managed to free his uninjured right arm and lashed out, catching Samuel's collarbone with a clumsy fist. The hands holding him loosened in surprise and Dean backed away.

"Dean, if I hated you I wouldn't have tried to call you! I wouldn't have come back to the room, and I definitely wouldn't have stopped you from killing yourself." Sam was back now, his eyes all big and caring with a pleading tone to his words. There were even tears welling up in his big puppy eyes, and Dean felt his resolve melting away. He forced himself to keep still, resisting the urge to step forward and comfort his brother.

"Then why would you say it, huh?! Wanted to see what I'd do? Fuck, Sam! How did you think I'd feel if I lost you? You've always been the most important person in my life, even before Mom died. I love you with everything I have, enough to actually _say it_. I've never said it to anyone else, because you're all that matters to me! I'd even give up the Impala for you, would a gone to Stanford with you if you would've asked, would stop hunting if you really wanted to… What did you expect I'd do, just move on and look for the next hunt?" Dean felt his lip quiver and tried to ignore the sting of tears in his eyes, jaw clenched tight.

"Dean, I…I didn't mean any of that.. I just…" Sam brought his hands up, tugging at his hair with a harsh sigh as he back away and dropped onto the edge of the bed. "Did you know that I never wanted to go to Stanford? I loved hunting with you and Dad, no matter what I used to say. It was awesome, and we worked great together… But Dad, he..he found out about how I feel for you, and he said that if I didn't leave he'd tell you and I knew you'd hate me so four years later I took the scholarship offer the school gave me…"

Sam took a shaky breath, looking up at Dean with his sad puppy eyes, hoping he'd understand. He cleared his throat lowly, but Dean spoke before he could get any words out.

"Wait, Sam…what do you mean, 'how you feel'?" Dean asked, lowering himself slowly onto the bed across from his brother.

"I mean.. Dean, I love you too, okay? I'm in love with you, have been since I was a teenager…" Sam said softly, looking at the carpet.

"But then…w-why?"

"During those four years that Dad knew, he… he got me to believe that you'd hate me if you ever found out, said that you'd leave me or kill me and… he said that he could make me normal again.. he…" Sam gripped the blankets hard, his knuckles white.

"Sammy, what did he do to you..?" His baby brother was Sammy again and Dean forgot about his own pain.

"Seems he was even more screwed up than me." Sam laughed humourlessly, wiping his fingers through the streaks of tears on his cheeks. "Seems he was the kind of twisted fuck that liked beating and raping his son. Every night for four years, I dreaded the time after you'd gone to bed."

"Sammy, why the fuck didn't you tell me?!" Dean shot forward, ignoring the pain in his injured arm as he squeezed his brother in his arms.

"I didn't wanna do that to you, Dean.. You loved him, idolized him. I didn't wanna ruin that for either of you."

"If that bastard wasn't already dead, I'd fucking stab him to death!" Dean growled, his eyes dark with rage. "Fuck, Sam… I love you so much, and I'll never let anyone hurt you ever a-_fucking_-gain."

Sam grabbed at Dean's back and moved so that he was lying back against the pillows, holding his big brother to his chest. He carded his fingers through Dean's soft hair, staring into his eyes.

"Sammy, I think there's a certain demon we need to thank." Dean smirked, grinding down against his brother as Sam's eyes flashed yellow in the dull light of the motel room.


End file.
